Page 1 of Demon (Mystic Guardians #3)

Chapter One

C allan

The earthy smell of blood and sweat permeated the underground warehouse. The scent was thick and cloying, like trying to inhale a salty, coppery mist. The deafening noise from the crowd echoed off the high ceiling, and overhead lights glared down in the huge space, most of them aimed at the fighting pit.

Callan Ambrose swung his fist, relishing the satisfying crunch of the other demon’s nose. Blood spattered his face, some getting into his eye. He quickly blinked it away as the massive demon roared, bent, and rammed his horns into Callan’s chest. The force of the blow sent Callan staggering back into the chain-link fence around the fighting pit, pain hammering deep into his chest.

One of Callan’s three brothers yelled from the sidelines, “Don’t let this bonehead get so damn close!” It could have been Rafe, or maybe Nathanial—it was hard to tell through the adrenaline.

Grinning, Callan spit blood to the side and rushed the other demon, going in low to punch into his stomach. His opponent grabbed his horns and twisted in a vicious yank that wrenched his neck. He jerked away, freeing his horns, and swept out his leg in a powerful kick that took the demon’s feet right off the floor. He hit the mat hard but rolled back to his feet quickly.

This one was a decent challenger for a change.

Callan grinned.

“That’s it! Take him down!” That was from Bartholomew—surprising he could tell, since the cheers and catcalls of all the preternaturals gathered had reached ear-breaking levels in the cavernous space. Not to mention the myriad of fierce thoughts Callan was picking up from the demons and other preternaturals gathered. As usual, they created a sensory overload that ramped up his rage.

I could take Callan Ambrose.

Wish these fights were to the death. That would be more exciting.

More blood!

“Go for his knees, Callan!” Bartholomew shouted. “They’re weak!”

Callan had seen the demon favoring his knees throughout the fight, and if this had been a real fight, a life-or-death situation, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take them out. But this was just a match for fun, and he had no intention of crippling a fellow demon who was probably here for the same reasons.

Fun. Battle. And a way to vent frustration.

Callan had more than his fair share of the latter. Especially with his brother Rafe and his new soulmate in the crowd. Rafe had met her completely by accident at one of these fights, and she was perfect for him. Rafe had told him he’d suspected what she was to him right away—that the base of his horns had tingled. Now they were always together, and constantly seeing the strength of their bond was like having a knife repeatedly stabbed into Callan’s heart.

Callan was happy for his brother. He was . But now his own odds of finding his true mate were so low, a simmering anger stayed inside him at all times.

So, he’d been coming to this underground battle arena often, taking out his anger toward the world on preternaturals who could handle his immense strength. And fighting a demon like this—one who nearly matched him in strength—gave him the rush he was after.

Like Callan, this demon was well over six feet in height. He wasn’t as broad, his arms weren’t as heavily muscled, but he packed a heavy punch and despite bad knees could easily hold his own. His skin was gray in color, much darker than Callan’s, and his horns were at least six inches longer. He was probably as old as Callan at four hundred years. All in all, he offered the kind of powerhouse fighting Callan needed. His frustration levels had been too much to handle lately.

A fist rocketed toward Callan’s face; he barely had time to twist, making it glance off his jaw. He bit his tongue, blood filling his mouth again. This time, he spit it right in the demon’s face.

The demon shouted and attacked, punching hard and fast. Callan blocked with his forearms, the music of the crowd and the shouts of his brothers ringing in his ears. He spun around, landed a blow to the demon’s already broken nose before dancing out of reach as the demon swung wildly.

They both had morbid streaks of blood on their gray flesh, were both breathing hard. Adrenaline pumped through Callan’s veins, but in the next moment, he picked up on some of Rafe’s thoughts because he was giving his new mate a kiss.

I can’t keep my hands off her! She’s just so perfect for me. Fate chose well.

That just brought to mind why Callan was so angry. And because he was distracted, he missed a block, a hard fist slamming into his stomach. All the air left his body in a loud whoosh.

“Stay vigilant!” Bartholomew yelled.

Surprised Bart had used such a big word out loud, Callan made the mistake of looking in that direction, and his head snapped back from an unexpected blow that added another split to his lip.

He shook off the pain, spit more blood, and growled. He should be focusing on the fight and not on his brother with his soulmate. The crowd quieted at the low, menacing sound, seeming to hold their breaths.

He’s in for it now.

Shouldn’t have pissed off Callan.

Take him down, Callan!

The thoughts that came at him from all directions just spurred him on. Callan leaped through the air, grabbed the demon’s horns and twisted, throwing that huge body into a spin that took the demon off his feet. Callan didn’t let up, following him down to the mat to rain punches to his face. His anger felt like a feral animal out of control, his vision blood-red. He didn’t stop until he was forcibly pulled off.

“Winner!” the referee yelled.

Callan, panting, stood over the fallen demon, who was now passed out cold. He held up his arms in victory, laughing as his brothers opened the gate and rushed into the pit, their arms raised in victory as well.

Rafe pounded him on the back. “Good fight.” He turned to grab his mate’s hand, and the way Shia looked at his brother sent another stab into Callan’s chest. That fight hadn’t done what he needed, not entirely. This raw anguish was just too damn tenacious, like it was determined to keep its claws buried in his chest for the rest of his life.

Bartholomew and Nathanial crowded into him, both laughing. He worked to smile with them, not wanting them to sense the depth of his struggle.

The demon on the mat came awake and slowly sat up. Callan offered him a hand to help pull him to his feet. At first, he just glared, then a resigned expression crossed his harsh features, and he took that hand. Callan slapped his back once he was standing.

“Thank you for the battle. Was a good match.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“Look forward to that.” Callan’s grin that time felt a little more natural, though blood from his split lips, bitten tongue, and possibly a loose tooth dripped down his chin. He’d relished every moment of that fight, even though it hadn’t totally banished his inner pain.

The reminder deflated him as he looked at Rafe and Shia, who were wrapped around each other as usual. The anguish was hot in his chest as he forced himself to look away from them. There wasn’t anything in this world he wanted more. All soulmates were rare, but for demons, they were even more so. Two in one family was unheard of.

Callan was doomed to be alone forever.